Eyes of a Child (25 page)

Paget covered Carlo's hand with his own. ‘You always can, son. Just buy your own gas, okay?'

Carlo smiled again, and then he cocked his head. ‘Was that the doorbell?'

Paget listened. The second rasp of the bell was clearly audible. ‘It's one of
your
friends,' he told Carlo. ‘Mine have better manners than to drop in on Sunday morning.'

Carlo disentangled himself from his chair with the agonizing slowness of an arthritic octogenarian. Amusedly watching his son – the three-sport athlete – make standing look like an act of will, Page reflected that there is nothing in the world more put upon than a teenage boy who does not wish to move. ‘The next step,' he advised Carlo, ‘is learning how to walk.'

Carlo gave him an exaggerated grimace. ‘Funny, Dad,' he said, and began moving toward the door with the alacrity of a man on a treadmill.

He returned with Charles Monk. Trailing behind them was Dennis Lynch, carrying a tape recorder.

Paget looked up. ‘Morning,' he greeted Monk amiably. ‘If we'd known you were coming, I'd have invited you.'

Monk's eyes widened slightly; in his range of expressions, Paget thought, this might mean amusement. Monk turned to Carlo and back again. ‘We have more questions,' he told Paget. ‘I'd like to talk to you both. Alone.'

All at once, Paget's thoughts felt sharp and focused. ‘No thanks,' he said coolly. ‘Just because we
didn't
invite you doesn't mean that you're not our guests. You care to talk to my son, you do it with me here – right now,
once
. Afterward,
we
can chat alone.'

Monk stared at him in silence. The message was that he understood that Paget meant to force them to take Carlo first, in his presence, so that the police could not ambush either of them. Only Carlo, standing uncomfortably to the side, seemed left out of the edgy dynamic.

‘We'll do it right here.' Paget gestured at two canvas folding chairs. ‘Have a seat.'

Monk gazed at the chairs for a moment. They were rather like hammocks. Sinking into them, the two homicide inspectors looked immobilized and a little foolish. Monk, suddenly all arms and knees, did not seem amused.

Carlo watched Monk balance the tape recorder in his lap and then turned to Paget, as if for help or guidance. Paget kept his face and voice calm. ‘It's all right,' he said easily, and placed a hand on Carlo's shoulder. When Paget nodded to Monk, smiling a little, Carlo's face seemed to ease. He turned to Monk, waiting.

‘You'll have to speak up,' Monk said to Carlo, and began his litany: that the interviewee was Carlo Carelli Paget; that his father was present; and that it was ten-forty-five on a Sunday that, to Paget, had been bright and pleasant just minutes earlier. Carlo stared at the tape machine.

‘Ready?' Monk asked him.

Looking up, Carlo gave a brief nod. He seemed composed, but nothing about him was languid anymore. By contrast, Monk's gaze seemed almost dreamy.

‘Did you sexually molest Elena Arias?' he asked.

The question struck Paget like a slap in the face. Carlo straightened in his chair.

‘No,' he said.

The answer had a simple dignity – no protest, no elaboration. What Paget himself would do. But it did not stop the rush of anger. Monk had gained his petty revenge: walked into
his
home, humiliated
his
son, and made Paget watch it. And then, suddenly realizing that Monk was watching
him
, Paget understood his deeper reasons.

‘Nicely done,' he told Monk in conversational tones. ‘Is that all, or do you mean to ask Carlo about the Lindbergh baby?'

Paget saw his son's faint smile. Shrugging, Monk turned back to Carlo. ‘Have you ever met Ricardo Arias?'

A quick shake of the head. ‘No.'

‘Or spoken to him?'

‘No.'

‘Or been to his apartment?'

Carlo watched the tape. ‘I don't even know where it is.'

Monk seemed to study him. ‘Are you aware of the materials Mr Arias filed in the family court?'

Carlo tried to look stoic. ‘Stuff about me and Elena.' His voice became deliberate. ‘It's bullshit.'

Monk glanced at Paget, then back to Carlo. ‘Did you and your father discuss that?'

‘Uh-huh.' Carlo propped his chin on his hands. ‘He said that Tern's husband was using this stuff to try to break her.'

‘Did you and he discuss what to do about it?'

Carlo seemed to choose his words. ‘Only that we might have to go to court. To prove it was a lie.'

‘Did you discuss the possibility of publicity?'

‘Yes.' Carlo looked down now. ‘Dad said the papers might be there.'

‘What was his attitude?'

A quick glance at Paget. ‘He was pretty upset about it. So was I.'

‘Were you willing to testify?'

Carlo nodded. ‘If I had to. I told Dad that.'

‘And what did he say?'

Carlo seemed to breathe in. ‘My dad said he was sorry. And that he was proud of me.'

Monk studied Carlo with new concentration. ‘Do you remember the night before your father went to Italy?'

Carlo shifted in his chair. His answer came in an undertone. ‘Uh-huh.'

‘Where were you?'

Lynch, Paget realized, seemed just a little more tense.

‘With friends,' Carlo answered slowly.

What was
this?
Paget wondered: surely they did not suspect Carlo. But Monk's face showed nothing.

‘Between when and when?' he asked.

Carlo shrugged. ‘I'm not sure, exactly. But my dad makes me get in by twelve-thirty. So maybe from around seven.'

Paget was momentarily amused; even talking to Monk, Carlo was annoyed enough by his curfew to complain about it. But Monk's next question cut him short.

‘When you left,' he asked Carlo, ‘was your father here?'

‘Yes.'

Carlo's repeated nods, Paget noticed, seemed like a nervous tic. It was hard to watch a son as if you were assessing a witness, unable to coach him.

‘What about twelve-thirty, when you returned?' Monk asked. ‘Was your father also here?'

Another quick nod.

‘You'll have to speak up.'

‘Yes.' Carlo's voice was a shade too loud now. ‘He was here then too.'

Lynch's gaze had turned to Paget. ‘And where,' Monk asked Carlo, ‘were you in the meanwhile?'

A moment's hesitation. ‘With friends. Like I said.'

Monk's voice seemed a little colder. ‘Give me their names.'

‘There were a bunch of us.' Carlo looked reluctant to go on. ‘My girlfriend, Katie,' he said finally. ‘Katie Blessing. Danny Spellman, Darnell Sheets, Jenny Havilland, Joey Arroyo. Maybe Rachel Rubenstein – I'm not sure about her.'

‘Were you with them the whole time?'

A longer pause. ‘Mostly,' Carlo answered.

Monk watched Paget's face. ‘Was there a period,' he asked Carlo, ‘when you weren't with them?'

The nod again, quick and nervous. It was the time, Paget knew, when an inexperienced witness would start to demonstrate his sincerity, giving voluble answers to the question and a half-dozen others that Monk had never asked. So that Carlo's terse ‘Yes,' coming after a pause, disturbed him.

‘When was that?' Monk prodded.

‘Maybe eight-thirty.' Carlo had begun to fidget; when Monk did not fill the silence, Carlo added, ‘It wasn't very long.'

Monk let the answer sit there awhile. ‘And what were the circumstances?'

‘We were all at Darnell's house, and we decided to go to a movie. Maybe later, Katie and I were going to a pizza place.' He shot his father a quick glance. ‘I'd forgotten my wallet.'

Paget felt himself becoming very still.

‘What did you do?' Monk asked.

Carlo folded his arms, looking down. ‘Tried to borrow money.'

Carlo, Paget saw, was trying to stretch this out, hoping that the reckoning would never come. His heart went out to him: the questions
would
come, and for the first time, Paget knew where they would end.

‘What happened?'

‘Nothing,' Carlo's voice was lower now. ‘There wasn't enough to cover us.'

‘What did you do?'

Answering, Carlo would not look at Paget. ‘We decided that I'd meet the rest of them at the theater – you know, the Empire in West Portal.'

Monk, Paget knew, would have to drag this out of him. Monk watched Carlo intently now. But for the last five questions, Lynch's eyes had not moved from Paget's face.

‘And between Darnell's house and the Empire,' Monk asked softly, ‘how long were you gone?'

Carlo's brow furrowed; it was the expression of someone stalling for time. ‘Forty-five minutes, maybe.'

‘Were you alone?'

Carlo seemed quite miserable. The nod, when it came, was brief; the ‘Yes' almost inaudible.

Monk leaned forward. More softly yet, he asked, ‘And where did you go, Carlo?'

Carlo turned to his father. Paget knew that Carlo could not help this. But Paget's face could tell him nothing.

Carlo faced Monk again. Suddenly composed, he said simply, ‘I came home.'

‘And what did you do here?'

Carlo leaned back. ‘I went to my room and got my wallet. Then I left.'

‘Where did you park?'

Carlo looked puzzled; only Paget, it was clear, understood the question. ‘In the driveway,' Carlo answered.

A slight pause. ‘Was there any other car here?'

Comprehension appeared as a stain on Carlo's cheeks. ‘My dad parks in the garage,' he said. ‘I didn't go there.'

Tensely watching, Paget thought that Carlo's body was in retreat, Monk's in pursuit. ‘While you were home,' Monk asked quietly, ‘did you see anyone?'

Carlo stared back at Monk. He did not look at Paget now; this seemed as deliberate as turning to his father, just a moment before, had seemed involuntary. In his son's silence, Paget implored Carlo not to lie.

‘No,' Carlo answered. ‘I was just looking for my wallet. I ran upstairs to my room, got the wallet, and ran back down the stairs again. It took less than two minutes.'

‘To get to the stairs,' Monk asked, ‘you pass the library and living room, right?'

The nod again, slower now. ‘Right.'

‘Did you see anyone?'

Carlo shrugged. ‘I wasn't looking.'

Monk's face was stony; only the rhythm of the questions changed, a little faster now. ‘But someone in those rooms could see
you,
right?'

The nod again, barely perceptible. ‘Yes.'

‘Where is your dad's room?'

Carlo seemed to blink; Paget willed himself not to move. ‘Next to mine,' Carlo answered.

‘And no one called out to you?'

Slowly, Carlo shook his head.

‘You have to give me an audible answer, son.'

He's not
your
son, Paget thought. ‘All I can tell you,' Carlo said, ‘is that I didn't
hear
anyone call me.'

‘Did you hear noises in your father's bedroom?'

Carlo leaned back, folding his arms. To Paget, he looked suddenly pale. ‘I can't remember,' he said.

That, Paget was certain, was true; most people quickly forget non-essentials, and the memories of police witnesses are often the well-intentioned imaginings of those to whom the normal absence of recall suddenly feels like a sign of guilt. But Carlo could not know this: he had begun to watch the spinning tape as if it were an enemy.

‘Tell me,' Monk asked him softly, ‘was there any sign that your father was even here?'

Paget's stomach felt tight. Carlo's mouth opened; Paget saw him straining to think. ‘All that I remember,' he said in a low voice, ‘is thinking maybe I heard footsteps in the attic, above my room.'

‘So you're not sure.'

‘No.' Carlo's voice was cool now. ‘But that would make sense. The attic's where Dad and I keep extra suitcases.'

‘Did you hear
Carlo?
' Monk asked abruptly.

It was a moment before Paget realized that Monk had turned to him. ‘No,' he answered.

Monk glanced at the tape. In a voice that seemed almost indifferent to the answer, he asked Paget, ‘Where were you, anyhow?'

To Paget, Carlo's eyes seemed almost pleading. ‘I'm not sure,' Paget said evenly. ‘But Carlo's right: we keep our bags in the attic. So I spent some time there.'

‘How much time?'

‘Five minutes, perhaps. It wasn't an eventful trip.' Paget looked at Lynch and then back to Monk. ‘If we're through with Carlo, and on to me, I believe that Carlo had some plans.'

Carlo shot him a quick glance. ‘If that's all right,' he said to Monk.

Monk paused. Then, drawn by the trade that Paget offered – Carlo's freedom for a shot at Paget – he nodded.

Rising, Carlo gave his father a look that mingled concern with apology. No, Paget told him with a look, it's I who should be sorry. Even before Monk stopped Carlo from standing, asked him to stay for a moment, and took a set a fingerprints.

Rising, Carlo gazed at his ink-smudged fingers. Much, his father thought, as Terri had.

‘Have a nice time,' Paget told him easily. ‘And wash your hands.'

Carlo managed a smile. ‘Thanks, Dad.'

Taking his cue, Carlo had made his voice sound close to normal. Paget wondered where Carlo, who had no plans, would choose to go. Then the boy left, and Paget turned to Monk.